Boxes and Bagginses
by LilyBaggins
Summary: *Non-slash* It's Yule time in the Shire, and poor Frodo is feeling left out and forgotten.


FIC: Boxes and Bagginses 1/1  
  
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins  
  
RATING: G It doesn't get sappier than this, folks. I humbly apologize.  
  
Author's Note: I am well aware that hobbits don't celebrate Christmas, nevertheless, my muse demanded I write a holiday-season Shire story. I was going to post the next chapter of "A Little Affliction," but this DEMANDED I write it, as of a couple of hours ago. It all began with a strange mental image of Gandalf in a red Santa Claus suit. . . don't ask me why, I have no clue!   
  
A special acknowledgment to Frodo Baggins of Bag End (Febobe) for her intense research into invalid foods suitable for sick hobbits and sharing that wealth of information with me. She had no idea a few would find their way into this fic!! And so, because of this and her inspired Frodo h/c, I dedicate this little ditty to her, whether she likes it or not. :)   
  
Second Author's note: Frodo is fourteen in this fic, which is roughly equivalent to a human 9 or 10, I believe.   
  
****  
  
Fourteen-year-old Frodo Baggins tossed fretfully in bed, feeling rather glum as the sound of young-hobbit chatter wafted through his walls from the hallway. Even though he couldn't see his friends, he knew they were clad in colorful coats and mittens and hats; their apple-cheeked faces red with excitement as they prepared to go sing Yule songs door to door.   
  
It was a yearly tradition at Brandy Hall, and one of Frodo's favorites, but this year, he wouldn't be joining.   
  
A fit of coughing from the bedridden hobbit lad drowned out the laughter outside and Frodo turned on his side, holding small fists in front of his mouth as his eyes watered from the effort. As if on cue, Aunt Amaranth came in, fussing as usual.   
  
"Frodo dear, time for your cough syrup." Tweaking his nose and ignoring the terrible grimace on his face, she raised his shoulders, edging a spoon of honey-sweetened raspberry-lemon syrup into his mouth before laying a cool hand on his brow.   
  
"When can I go outside, Aunt Amaranth?"  
  
Old Amaranth's kindly features softened at the plaintive voice. "Frodo, child, you're getting over pneumonia and are still running a fever. It will be a while yet. I'm sorry, dear. Now, try to sleep. I'll be back in an hour or so with some eggnog and shepherd's pie.   
  
"Do you think Uncle Bilbo will come today?"  
  
She shook her head, biting her lip, as she brushed the boy's bangs back and kissed his forehead. "I haven't heard from Bilbo, Frodo, I'm sorry. He's probably very busy this time of year."  
  
Frodo nodded, sighing, as Amaranth placed a cool compress on his brow and tucked him in warmly, placing a knitted blanket over all that she had made for Primula when Frodo was just a baby.  
  
Thoughts of his mother hit Frodo hard. It was only a couple of years earlier that she and Drogo had been taken, and he sniffled a bit, wiping his rubbed-raw nose with a handkerchief. He had hoped at least that Uncle Bilbo might come to visit, but as of yet there had been no word. Frodo supposed his uncle had better, more exciting things to do than entertain a very sick hobbit during this festive time of year.   
  
Of course Frodo had his aunts and uncles and cousins, but they weren't adventurous like Uncle Bilbo and certainly didn't approve of hobbits dreaming of far-off places. And unlike the others, Bilbo never forgot Frodo's birthday.   
  
And so the day wore on and evening arrived, and Frodo lay in bed staring at his wall. He slept off and on, but it seemed that just when he fell into a restful sleep the cough took him again. Either that, or Aunt roused him to take medicine or eat buttered toast or soft-boiled eggs or mashed sweet potatoes and broth or to gently sponge his feverish skin and change his gown. She'd tried to bring him books to look at, but he'd refused, shaking his head and simply curling up into a ball and sinking as low as he could into his nest of covers.   
  
Deep into the night he fell into a deep sleep, a slight frown marring his small lips. The first day of Yule was over, and it had happened without him.   
  
***  
  
Sunlight's first rays were shining on Brandy Hall when a loud knock at the door woke Frodo and caused Amaranth to verily jump from the chair she'd been dozing in. Whoever it was, the person was a bit impatient, and Frodo's aunt had no time to even cross the room before it opened to admit--a Big Person! Frodo's eyes grew wide with surprise as a familiar figure clad in gray robes entered, hunched over to dodge the low ceiling.   
  
"Gandalf?" Frodo whispered, his voice a bit raspy from sleep and coughing. He'd grown to know the wizard well because of his association with Bilbo, and the thought of a visit was delightful to the hobbit lad. But what was Gandalf doing here, in Brandy Hall, in Frodo's own little bedroom?  
  
Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling, as he approached the bed and ruffled Frodo's hair. "None other than, young Baggins. What's this, are you ill?"   
  
Aunt Amaranth had recovered from her initial shock and spoke first, her hands on her hips. "He's recovering from pneumonia and has been quite sick, poor boy. Now . . . it's a pleasure to see you again, Gandalf, but what brings you here? Is Bilbo all right?"  
  
"It is on Bilbo's behalf that I've come, dear lady. Although," and here he turned and looked at Frodo, "I must admit, I wanted to see young Frodo here again for myself. I'm afraid Bilbo is also ill---he very much wanted to come see you, lad, but was unable to."  
  
"Oh no," Frodo gasped, sitting up so quickly it made his head spin. "Is he going to be all right?"  
  
"Now, don't get excited." Gandalf gently pushed the young hobbit back down amidst his pillows. "Bilbo will be fine. He had planned to come, but he's been getting over the influenza and was just too weak to make the trip. Hamfast Gamgee and his wife are taking very good care of him. He sends his apologies and gave me this note to give you."  
  
Frodo nodded, taking the note and perking up greatly. Of course he wasn't happy that Bilbo was ill--not at all---but at least he knew his uncle had not forgotten about him.   
  
"He also sends something else, Frodo," Gandalf said, "that he wanted to bring you himself if he had been able. And," and here the old wizard winked, "I picked up one or two items as well on my travels."  
  
The young hobbit's mouth dropped open as Gandalf fetched two large bags from outside the door, dragging them into the room. "Let's see what we've got here . . . now, you must lie back and rest and I'll show you. Are you certain you are feeling up to this?"  
  
Frodo nodded eagerly, gratefully taking a cough drop to suck on from Aunt as the wizard began pulling all manners of things out of his bags---striped sugar canes, beautiful paper bags containing strawberry taffy and sweet butterscotch fudges, small iced sponge cakes, fruity pastilles, and an exquisite box, covered in silver filigree, that contained golden brown star-shaped confections unlike any Frodo had ever seen.   
  
"They're made by the elves," Gandalf told him. "I brought them from Rivendell."  
  
But that was not all. There were several wooden puzzles, expertly carved and of obvious dwarf-make; several games of polished wood; a whole cache of lovely, leather-bound books with bright drawings, all relaying some fantastic tale of Men and Elves from days past; a purple and red glider made of silk that could be borne upon the wind and simply held by a piece of string; fine linen stationary with Frodo's name at the top in gold lettering; a set of paints and an easel; and a woolen scarf of light blue and yellow that Bell Gamgee had woven to "match young Frodo's eyes."   
  
Said eyes were goggling at the array of things on the floor and tables of his room---he could hardly believe Uncle Bilbo had sent all this.   
  
Next Gandalf produced presents he himself had brought: A delicate, gilt-colored bird cage with a tiny glass bird perched inside that sang---but how, Frodo could not fathom---squibs and elf-fountains, tiny bottles of sweet Elvish cider; a large wooden dragon that actually lit up in some magic way when touched, and a book of blank pages that Gandalf said would show bright pictures when painted with water.  
  
"There are two more things from Bilbo, my boy," Gandalf said, reaching again into his bag. He pulled out a very plush, furry stuffed bear with realistic glass eyes that Frodo immediately latched onto, and then the wizard rose and stepped outside the room, bringing a rather large object back in.   
  
"A two-wheeler!" The lad could hardly believe it. Made of wood and hard metal, the two-wheeler had a seat, two wheels---from whence it derived its simple name---a bar that that stretched across the front to grip, and pedals. A young hobbit could ride on one for hours across the Shire without becoming tired. This one was lovely . . . of smooth polished oak inlaid with a darker pattern and embossed with red scroll designs.   
  
"It's amazing, Gandalf," Frodo gushed, his eyes wide, as he held the stuffed bear to his chest. "I wish I could ride it now."  
  
"You will. You're on the mend, I can see. Now, if your aunt would like to go see her family or take a rest, I'll be happy to sit and keep you company for a while."  
  
Amaranth nodded and stood, her eyes bright. "There's some cherry tea and honey right here for him, Gandalf, if you'll make sure he drinks all he can. I'll bring coddled eggs and apple jelly up with his other medicines and then leave you to it. And Gandalf . . . thank you. He needed this." With a quick kiss to Frodo's cheek, she left to get his tray.   
  
The wizard nodded, turning back to the boy, who lay curled up hugging several of his smaller gifts. Frodo's eyes were bright and his lip quivered a bit . "G---Gandalf . . . I . . . I . . . well, thank you . . . to you and Uncle Bilbo. I was afraid that maybe he'd . . . forgotten about me."   
  
"Of course not, Frodo. He cares far too much for you. Now, now, don't cry."  
  
Frodo started to speak but began to cough instead; Gandalf moving in to support his shoulders and rub the youngster's back as Frodo gratefully sank against him. Stroking his beard, the wizard wrapped a blanket about the boy and gathered him up, stuffed bear and all, before settling into the chair with the small hobbit cradled in his lap. Despite the excitement of the day, or maybe because of it, Frodo yawned.   
  
"Now, young Baggins, I've tales to keep you awake enough to eat when breakfast arrives," said Gandalf, urging the youngster to drink his tea. "You must get better so that you can ride that two-wheeler, you know."   
  
Smiling drowsily, Frodo nestled against Gandalf's chest, gazing at his piles of treasures as the wizard's deep voice began recanting a story. There would be time to look at his lovely things later. But wonderful though the books and toys and games and candies were, the best thing was that Bilbo, and of course Gandalf, had sent them.   
  
That was when the young hobbit realized he was fingering the note Bilbo had sent, and he hadn't even opened it yet! Unfolding the small piece of paper, he slowly read the finely-scripted letters.   
  
*Dearest Frodo, a little something for you since I can't be there just yet. I'll come before Afteryule is over, I promise. And do be careful with that largest present, lad---I know how fast you young ones like to ride those. I love you, Bilbo."  
  
It was the second day of Yule, and Frodo couldn't remember a better one.  
  
The End 


End file.
